


Balancing Act

by mific



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Fanfiction, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: Bucky's got trust issues, and Steve's got a plan to help him with that.





	Balancing Act

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stucky1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I had him on the ropes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382362) by [Stucky1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980/pseuds/Stucky1980). 



> Written for the 2019 Cap RBB for LisaMott9 (aka Stucky1980)'s excellent art, linked above!
> 
> Beta'd by Vintheknife - thanks to Vin and Lisa for being patient.
> 
> Warning: there's past mention of Bucky being in an abusive relationship, but nothing explicit.

"Red, white and blue?" Steve asked doubtfully, holding up his new costume. The hot-fix diamante crystals on the deep blue Spandex glittered like a starry night in the shafts of sun slanting down between the big top tent and the cheetah cage. "Tasteful. Coulson's outdone himself."

"Patriotism's in again," Stark said breezily, clapping him on the shoulder. "We're capitalizing on those Captain America and Falcon comics that've gotten popular."

Sam stuck his head out from a caravan a few feet away."I ain't wearin' no bird outfit, y'hear," he called, scowling.

"No. no. You'll both be in Cap get-ups, see?" Stark threw the other package to Sam, who stepped out and snagged it in one fluid movement. He ripped it open, unwrapping an identical Spandex leotard which he eyed, pursing his lips. "You're our trapeze team," Stark said, trying his best to sound earnest. "Have to dress you alike or it'd look cheap."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, heaven forbid this two-bit operation ever looked cheap!"

The guy who fed the cheetahs and did general roustabout work appeared from between two wagons, carrying a pail of the bloody bones and cheap cuts of meat they got from local butchers wherever they stopped. Bucky, his name was Bucky, Steve knew, but he'd never talked with him, just watched him. Watched him a lot.

"Uh, sorry..." Bucky muttered, stopping in his tracks and looking kind of spooked.

"Yeah, later," Stark said, turning away towards the big top. He swiveled to glare at them. "Don't you mess up those new costumes, now!"

Sam rolled his eyes and bounced back up the steps to his trailer, cutting his eyes sideways at Steve and winking before vanishing. What was _that_ about?

The guy, Bucky, was still standing there, staring at Steve. "It's okay," Steve said. "Don't mean to get in your way. Go ahead and feed 'em."

Bucky nodded and came over to the bars fronting the cheetah cage. It being feeding time the cheetahs were restless and pacing.

Nat kept them in her trailer with her most of the time, except when they all went running in whatever parkland they could find, or outside the town limits if it was too much of a hicktown to have a park. No matter what the local laws were for circuses or exotic wildlife, she never left them alone in the cage except to feed. Cheetahs were the most easily domesticated of the big cats and Nat's two were like big, rangy housecats, but a hell of a lot faster. She refused to work with any other big cats, saying it was inhumane to keep them caged—her two were rescues, a brother and sister orphaned and abandoned by some idiot who hadn't bargained for what a handful full-grown cheetahs could be.

The cats were crowding against the bars now, letting Bucky rub their heads and purring fit to bust. Bucky was talking to them softly in... huh, Steve thought that was Russian. " _Da, da, khoroshiy mal'chik Pietro, khoroshaya devushka Wanda_." Steve had just enough Russian from hanging around Nat to know that was "good boy" and "good girl".

Steve watched as Bucky unlatched the cage door and threw in the bones and meat. He leaned against the end of the trailer, arms crossed. "They like you, huh?"

Bucky shot him a glance. "Helps that I mostly feed them." He shrugged. "I don't mind. They got nice personalities."

Steve failed to suppress a grin. "Oh yeah? Compared to who?"

Bucky's face shuttered. He turned away, making sure the cage door was secure then picking up the pail. "You don't wanna know, pal," he said quietly as he turned to go.

"Hey," Steve called, straightening up and lifting his hands placatingly. "I didn't mean–"

But Bucky had vanished again, between the trailers. Damn.

* * *

Steve had been out for a run to limber up and work off some nerves and he jogged back in through the circus compound's entrance at dusk, under the big banner that proclaimed **STARK CIRCUS ENTERPRISES** in giant red, white, and blue letters. The spots came on just as Steve ran underneath and he caught sight of Bucky in the shadows, concealing a cable he'd just connected under a tarp.

He ran on towards his trailer. It was their first performance in this small mid-western town, and Steve needed to change and meet up with Sam. They'd practiced their act earlier, going over the new moves again, although they weren't so new any longer and both he and Sam were pretty slick with the routine now.

Steve wondered again why Nick Fury preferred Stark's name on the hoardings. Stark was Ringmaster, sure, and a major shareholder, but it was Fury who owned the circus, although he almost never showed up in person. A reclusive millionaire, Clint claimed, but Steve never quite knew when Clint was being serious or pulling his leg. How Nat managed to stand there while he threw his barrage of knives around her Steve had no idea, but Clint and Nat knew each other from years ago, and she trusted him implicitly.

He took a shower, pulled on the new costume, did his make-up in the trailer's bathroom mirror, and was in the wings with the rest of the troupe just in time for the opening parade music. It was a lively recorded march broadcast by speakers all around the inside of the big top tent – they were too small for an orchestra and Stark was a wizard with anything technical. He was magic with lighting and sound effects as well, controlled by a panel in the wings that he operated when he wasn't center stage in the ring, performing for the crowd.

They all ran in for the parade, circling Stark on his platform in the center of the ring as they waved and cavorted for the crowd, what there was of it. Maybe a hundred people, Steve thought, more than half of them kids. Coulson would be sour-faced in the sales booth at the number of cut-price family tickets, but Steve liked seeing the wide-eyed young faces lit by excitement. What were circuses for, if not for kids?

He threw himself into a cartwheel, jumping up at the end, arms outstretched, a stage smile on his face. There were no clowns – Stark had a thing about clowns, some childhood trauma, maybe, so Steve and the other acrobats turned somersaults and played the fool.

The acrobats and other performers ran off and Thor thundered in, poised with each booted foot on the saddle of a palomino, hammer upraised and his blond hair and blue cloak rippling out behind him as he galloped his paired horses several times around the ring to ragged cheers from the crowd. Steve slipped away to find Sam and get ready to run on for their trapeze act, spangly new costumes and all.

No time for distractions when they were mid-act – it was all timing and flight, catching Sam's wrists and being caught in turn, bouncing onto the opposite high platform with a smiling wave. Steve thought he glimpsed a pale, upturned face with shadowed eyes staring at him from the wings, but it was hard to tell against the glare of the spotlights. He pushed it aside and turned back for the flip and catch, no room for mistakes as he let himself fly.

He saw Bucky here and there after that, doing roustabout chores tightening guy wires and mending canvas. Sometimes he felt someone watching him, but there was no one there in between the trailers, when he turned.

"That guy who feeds Wanda and Pietro, Nat. Bucky." Steve was hanging out in Nat's trailer, lounging around with Pietro while Nat read a book, something about spies or Soviet conspiracies, from the cover. Wanda was off running with Vision, who she'd taken a liking to. Vision was their fortune teller, reading palms and offering surprisingly astute advice despite the huge fake gemstone Stark insisted he paste onto his forehead during readings "for the proper mysterious effect".

"What about him?"

Steve carefully didn't meet her eyes, stroking Pietro's rough, furred head instead. Pietro butted into his hand, purring like a lawnmower. "Nothin', really. Just curious."

He risked a glance at her and sure enough she was eyeing him narrowly. Damn it. Then she grinned. "Interested in him, huh?"

Steve tried not to flush but he had the kind of skin that showed everything, so that was a lost cause. He never had been able to keep anything from Nat, anyway. "Maybe."

Nat pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You know he used to be a wire-walker, right?"

Steve looked up, startled. "What? Why isn't he...? We could do with another act."

Nat shrugged, setting her book aside. "Yeah, Stark tried to recruit him, but he only wanted to do scutwork. I think he had a bad time where he was before. Those Hydra Halloween Funhouse creeps've got a nasty rep. Plus, he had a fall and hurt his arm. Lost his nerve, I heard."

Steve pulled a face – that was rough. You trained and practiced and hoped you'd never have a bad one, one you couldn't walk away from. He frowned. "But, did the net fail, or something?" Coulson was a health and safety fanatic, always checking the safety nets before a performance.

Nat scowled. "They don't use them at Hydra. Apparently, they feel it's 'not a real spectacle' with nets."

Bastards. There were always risks you couldn't predict – hell, Nat trusted Clint's eye and his arm every time she stood there ready for his knives to come thudding into the throwing board she stood against, each blade a whisker away from her skin. But making someone do a high-wire act without a net wasn't just dumb, it was criminal.

"Yeah," Steve said, thinking about Bucky muttering _You don't wanna know, pal_. "I can see why he might have some issues."

* * *

So maybe Steve started keeping an eye out, maybe he even spent some time mooching around the cheetah cage near feeding time. It was hard going, though, getting more than a few words out of Bucky before he slipped away, cap pulled down over his eyes.

Until the day the circus made camp on the outskirts of a medium-sized town near a lake. It was a nice change having the lake and woodland nearby rather than endless fields of corn, so Steve took Pietro out for a run. Nat was busy teaching Wanda a new routine in the ring anyway, and Pietro kept distracting her.

Steve headed for the lakeshore, Pietro streaking ahead and doubling back, living up to his stage name, Quicksilver. Then Pietro jinked off into a grove of trees, and Steve followed to find Bucky on his back in the grass in a clearing, cursing and trying to fend off Pietro who was licking his ear. A long branch lay where it had fallen beside him, and there was a training wire only a foot off the ground, drawn taut between two metal stakes that had been pounded into the dirt.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Steve said, pulling Pietro away and squatting down. He didn't like the feeling of towering over Bucky. Bucky pushed himself up with a wince and sat there, glowering at them both. "We were out for a run and he must've caught your scent." Pietro rolled on his back, basking in the sun filtering down through the green summer leaves high above.

Bucky grabbed his ball cap from where it had fallen and jammed it on his head again, pulling it down with a vicious tug, mouth set in a grim line. "Guess you think this is pretty dumb," he said. "Not like you're afraid of heights, with your act."

"Used to be," Steve said quietly, "and it's different if you've had a fall. Sets you back."

Bucky glanced over at him sharply. "People've been talking, huh?"

Steve shrugged. "It's a circus. Worse than a small town for gossip."

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, don't I know it."

"Look," Steve said after an awkward moment, "let me help. It's tough, getting your confidence back again, hard to do alone."

"What's it to you?" Bucky said, a little challengingly. "Why d'you care?"

"I don't know," Steve said. "I just... we've all been through hard times. We've all got stories."

"Don't need a shoulder to cry on," Bucky said, looking very much like he did.

Steve carefully didn't say anything, just rubbed Pietro's spotted belly until a rumbling purr started up. Bucky gave the cheetah a half smile and rubbed a knuckle along the top of his head. The purring intensified, startlingly loud.

"Anyway," Bucky said after a while, to the grass between his feet. "My left arm got busted up pretty bad and it still ain't right. Probably not gonna be able to wire-walk again after that."

"Don't see why not, if your legs are working," Steve said, looking across. Bucky was in jeans, not a leotard, and he had soft black leather slippers on his feet. Highwire slippers. "Or can't you hold the pole?"

"I can hold it, but I get cramps sometimes in the arm, with the weight." He sighed. "Might drop it if that happens on the wire."

Steve frowned. "Maybe a lighter pole? We could get one made specially."

"Can't be too light or it won't balance me," Bucky muttered.

"Okay, but maybe the lightest that still works." Steve risked a glance at Bucky, who was scowling down at the offending arm. "What're you doing for, like PT. For the arm."

"Never had any," Bucky said. "The place I was working... they, they didn't..." He looked away, swallowing.

"That's shitty," Steve said. "Bastards should've paid for your treatment, the PT and all. I mean, it's no fun, but it does help."

"Yeah," Bucky muttered, pulling the head off a daisy. "Lot of things they shoulda done. And not done."

"You got a full range of motion with that arm?" Steve hoped he wasn't pushing too hard. It was like talking to a wild thing that might bolt off into the trees. He figured he'd better stick to the here and now and not probe the past.

Bucky stretched the arm and rotated it outwards. Steve saw a long scar, pale against tanned skin. He'd needed surgery. "Some. Can't get it entirely straight any more, but it bends okay at the elbow and the shoulder's all right for most things. I manage the work here without too much pain, but the cramps are a bummer."

"Okay," Steve said. "So a lighter pole, and something for the cramps. We should get Banner to take a look, see what he thinks."

"The strongman?" Bucky looked puzzled.

"Yeah, but he used to be a medic until... Well, like I said, we all got stories. He needs to get all riled up for his act, says it's what makes him strong, but he's a pussycat really, and he's great with injuries. He's patched us all up one time or another."

Bucky shot him a look with a glimmer of dark humor. "You takin' me on as a project, Rogers?"

Steve shrugged a little sheepishly. "I guess. Nat'll tell you it's what I do."

"Yeah, I bet," Bucky said, looking away again. "You just can't help adopting strays, is that it?"

"Not all of them," Steve said, flushing.

"Yeah?" Bucky turned and looked straight at him.

Steve looked back, defiant, his cheeks heated. "Yeah," he said firmly. He stood and offered Bucky a hand, making it easy for Bucky to use his right arm to haul himself up. "So, you gonna practice on the wire some more, or shall we sit around jawing all day?"

"Guess I'm gonna practice, coach," Bucky said wryly, bending to retrieve the branch he'd been using for a pole.

* * *

The pole was easy enough to come by; there was plenty of plastic tubing to be had and it was lighter than metal, even with the core partially weighted.

They took to practicing in the afternoons, after Bucky's morning chores and Steve and Sam's rehearsal. Bucky still insisted they set up the practice wire well away from the circus compound where no one could gawk at them. It was understandable, but of course everyone knew. Everyone always knew everything, in the circus.

"You planning to tell me sometime about your new... hobby?" Sam asked after the first few days, his dark eyes shrewd and amused.

"I'm just helping him get his nerve back," Steve said, feeling a little warm, but that was just the spots in the ring; they were waiting to run on for the parade.

"Uh huh. That what they're calling it these days?" Sam said, smirking, and Steve would've taken him to task but then music blared out from the speakers and Sam threw himself into a backflip, still with that maddening grin, and they were off. 

Nat had probably talked to him, Steve figured, or Banner. Well, maybe not Banner, who was more scrupulous about keeping confidences than most licensed physicians.

Steve had taken Bucky to see Banner in his trailer, filled as usual with scientific books and medical journals strewn about haphazardly, notes scribbled in the margins. Banner had asked Bucky to move the arm this way and that until it hurt, gently feeling along muscles and tendons, finding knots that made Bucky gasp with pain, while Banner apologized and made notes on a yellow pad.

"You can't reach these yourself and it needs loosening up as well as exercise," Banner said, finally. "Heat and then massage with warmed oil, then I want you to do stretches. I'll write them down for you. But the massage first."

"I can do that," Steve put in. "Did it for Sam when he had that bad landing down New Mexico way and twisted his ankle."

Banner nodded. "I remember." He turned to Bucky. "You okay with that?" Bucky nodded, flicking his eyes at Steve then looking away. Banner picked up a marker pen. "Right. Well, I'll show you the main problem areas and mark them."

It was bad around the shoulder girdle, Steve saw, and all down the scar. He still had some massage oil left, and they could use hot towels, or Stark would make them a heat lamp if Steve asked. Yeah, that would work.

The hot towels were fine, but Steve had to take it really damn slow. Getting Bucky to lie down on the bed in Steve's trailer took some doing, let alone touching him. Bucky kept wincing away and tensing up which was the opposite of what they were after. In the end, Steve got him to sit in a chair, head on his folded arms on the chair's back as he leaned on a pillow. Sitting seemed to calm him some, as long as Steve was careful and didn't make any sudden moves. He was still tense, but gradually he'd relax and Steve could work on the most knotted areas, smoothing them out with gentle pressure until Bucky sighed and leaned more heavily on his arms, his eyes finally closing.

It was a kind of sweet torture, having his hands on Bucky like that. The closeness, the warm enclosed space of the trailer with a couple of Vision's scented candles flickering away. Bucky, finally quiet and pliant, Steve's big hands sliding over his skin, intimate and precise.

The sixth time they did it, Bucky started talking.

"Guess I should tell you why..." he said, his voice a little rough. He cleared his throat, and Steve paused, feeling the vibrations through his back.

"You don't have to," Steve said softly. "Not if it's too–"

"Want to," Bucky said. "'s about time."

Steve wasn't sure if he should sit on the bed so Bucky could see him, He stopped the massage, unsure.

"No, keep goin'," Bucky said. "Easier like this."

Steve nodded, realized Bucky couldn't see that, and said "Yeah, okay." He slid his hands down Bucky's shoulder again, and Bucky sighed.

"So, it was pretty messed up, at Hydra. The guy running it, Pierce, he got into my head."

Bucky fell silent and Steve wasn't sure if he should say something. He moved to work on Bucky's forearm, where it wasn't so damaged. Bucky swallowed and spoke again. "I was one of his top acts, and he knew I wasn't happy there – they treated the performers like shit." Another sigh. "So Pierce started in on me, to get control and stop me leaving. He figured out I... that I liked... that I like... bein' told what to do."

Steve frowned. "Taking orders?"

"Yeah, but not like in the military, pal," Bucky said, an edge to his voice. "I was Pierce's boy, right? In his bedroom, letting him do what the hell he wanted to me." Bucky's voice had soured, harshened. "No safe words, no limits, long as it still left me able to walk the wire. He fucked with my head, and I let him."

Bucky moved a little, restless, and Steve shifted his hands away from the long scar on his arm, moving back to his shoulders.

"No safety net in the bedroom, and none in the ring, either. No net, never any nets. It was like I'd be saying I didn't trust him, if I wanted a net." A bitter laugh. "But I didn't trust him. Not really. I just... got sucked in, let him have control. There didn't seem any way out. Hell, I ain't sure I even _wanted_ a way out, not until the fall."

"Things changed after you fell?" Steve kept his hands sure, his voice soft.

"Yeah, no... well it was still a mess, but I was too busted up to perform, in the ring or in his bed. He lost interest, left me alone. I was in the hospital and after they operated to set the break I got away, once Pierce wasn't keeping me in line any more. He'd moved on by then, got himself a new pet, and I was useless, I couldn’t perform, so he wrote me off." Bucky sighed and shifted. "So I came here, when I was healed up enough to work."

"You're not useless," Steve said fiercely, then checked himself, afraid he'd come on too strong. There was a long pause, Steve's hands moving carefully on Bucky's skin, trying to tell him it was okay, that he was glad Bucky'd told him. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," Steve added, hoping his hands would make up for the inadequate words.

"That's why I couldn't..." Bucky gestured at the bed with his good hand. There was a long pause. "Sorry," he said. "Maybe I'm reading it wrong but I figure we got something happening here, but maybe that's just me, wanting' things I can't have. Wouldn't be the first time," he added bitterly.

"It's not just you," Steve said quickly, stilling his hands and sucking in a deep breath. He began moving them again. "And I'd never hurt you." Anger clouded his thoughts for a heartbeat, red rage at Pierce. "Oh," he said, when he'd shaken it off. "I mean, unless you... wanted that?"

Bucky barked out a laugh. "No, not my thing. Just... it's always been about trust, and letting go, for me. Well, turned out I couldn't trust Pierce, and now I don't trust myself." He twisted around and stared up at Steve. "If I can't trust myself how can I walk the wire?"

"Do you trust me?" Steve asked, hardly daring to breathe.

"Yeah, yeah, I do," Bucky said, his eyes dark in the low light, dilated.

"That's where we start, then," Steve said, and bent to kiss him. 

* * *

They took it slow, but in a few weeks Bucky was wire-walking a yard off the ground, and his arm wasn't cramping up, even after a long practice session with the pole. He started trying other tricks, going backwards, turning, juggling mid-wire, using umbrellas instead of the pole in a comedy routine where he acted like he was caught in a rainstorm.

They took it slow in bed, as well, with a lot more talking about what they liked and didn't like. Bucky was okay with the usual traffic light safewords, so they used those. Steve wasn't sure at first if he could give Bucky what he needed, but he was happy enough to tell him what to do once he'd found out what Bucky wanted him to do. Kissing him senseless while Bucky melted into him was just dandy in Steve's book; he could do it all day, and sometimes it felt like they did.

Restraints were out, what with Bucky's bad arm, but he really liked being put on his knees, and Steve liked having him there, especially after Bucky started giving him blowjobs that almost brought Steve to _his_ knees as well.

The massages were part of it, way more extensive than just his arm and shoulder now, and Bucky trusted Steve enough to lie face down on the bed while Steve worked him over, whispering that Bucky was _his_ , that he was _good_ , that he was _beautiful_ , until Bucky was helplessly relaxed and ready for Steve's fingers.

The first time Steve fucked him was after a long massage, working his way down from Bucky's neck to his shoulders, on down his narrow-waisted back to his ass, then starting again at his feet while Bucky groaned into the pillow and begged Steve to "just get the fuck on with it, Rogers." That earned him a slap on the rump and Steve was left clutching his cock to back himself off from coming at the sight of the red handprint, at the sight of Bucky shuddering through an orgasm just from that.

"Okay," Bucky mumbled into the pillow after a long while. "Might've been wrong about the pain thing."

"You think?" Steve said through his teeth, trying to imagine cold showers and blizzards. "I'm gonna fuck you now, okay?"

"Knock y'self out, I been waitin' for hours," Bucky slurred, voice thick with pleasure as Steve slicked him up and opened him.

"Less of the goddamn attitude," Steve gasped, then he was pushing in and that was it with talking or taking it slow.

So yeah, the massages were a pretty good deal, and Bucky's arm and shoulder were stronger and more supple, with no cramps at all.

One day when they'd made camp in a new town, Steve found the practice wire set up on the outskirts of the compound, not off where no one could see. Nat wandered by with Wanda and Pietro, and stayed to watch and laugh at some of Bucky's antics on the wire. By the time that session finished, Clint and Sam were watching as well, making suggestions for things Bucky could juggle, other props he could use.

"That pole's gotta be glitzier, man," Sam said, after Bucky'd jumped down, grinning. "No way Stark's gonna let you in the ring with no white plastic pole. If me and Steve gotta wear that diamante shit, you got to be spangly as hell like the rest of us."

Bucky pulled a face and turned to Steve, who spread his hands. "He's got a point, Buck. It's a circus."

"I ain't wearing no red, white and blue," Bucky said mutinously.

"How about black and silver?" Nat asked. "Black leotard with silver diamantes like icicles, and paint the pole silver. Kind of a winter theme."

"Yeah, maybe," Bucky said thinking it over.

"Stark can do you a lightshow," Clint put in. "Like a mirrorball, all sparkly and glittering."

"What can I do?" Stark asked, appearing around a trailer. "Oh, a lightshow, sure. Blues and silvers, very tasteful. You got a rain routine I heard, so we'll add in some thunder and lightning as well."

"Jeez," Bucky said. "Ain't there nothing private around here?"

"Not so much," Clint said, "but that's show biz."

"Just, no strobes," Bucky said, pointing at Stark, who raised his hands feigning innocence.

The others drifted off, but Stark stayed. "How much longer d'you need?"

Bucky looked at Steve, who shrugged. "You have to practice on the high wire in the ring, get used to some height again."

"Yeah," Bucky said. "And get the costume made." He turned back to Stark. "Make it two weeks, so not here, but the next town. Okay?"

"Coulson'll run you up a costume," Stark said. "He's a dab hand with an overlocker."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve. "Yeah, it's true. He makes all our outfits."

"Okay. Two weeks." Bucky blew out a long breath.

"You'll knock 'em dead," Stark said cheerfully. He turned to go then looked back. "Oh, hey, what's your billing?"

"Dunno," Bucky said. "Need a new... I don't want to use the same name I had–"

Stark grimaced. "Yeah, right."

"What about _Blade_ ," Steve said. "Kind of, like, ice-skates, balancing, and it's maybe got a wintry feel to it."

" _Blade_ ," Bucky said, trying it out. "Yeah, okay."

"Edgy," Stark said. "I like it. Okay, I'll get you on the posters. Two weeks!" he called, his arm raised, vanishing between the trailers.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other. "Jesus, Steve," Bucky said. "Two weeks!"

* * *

It passed quickly, Bucky handling the high wire like a pro in training sessions. Steve made Bucky practice falling to test the nets, and that helped, too.

The night before Bucky's debut as "Blade, Death-Defying High-Wire Artist!", Steve woke him in the middle of the night and made him dress, just in jeans, commando like Steve himself. It was late summer, unseasonably warm and humid, maybe a thunderstorm brewing. As they crept between the trailers, the moon was full, a harvest moon, low and bright gold above the big top. 

Steve led him to the tent, dark and deserted now in the small hours, and took him up to the high wire platform. "What are we–" whispered Bucky, but Steve hushed him, telling him to strip.

"You sure?" Bucky whispered, but he unzipped his jeans and slid them off. There was enough light from the moon that the red and white stripes of the marquee were glowing, and their eyes were dark-adjusted now, so they could see well enough.

Steve pulled Bucky against him and kissed him possessively, backing him up against the thick pole that supported one side of the huge tent. Bucky moaned a little as Steve made him take it, naked and vulnerable while Steve was still dressed, his jeans rough on Bucky's stiffening cock.

"Get your pole and meet me on the other side," Steve murmured. He stepped back and reached up, Unhooking one of the trapeze swings then launching himself off through the semi-dark to the opposite platform. When he landed and secured the trapeze again, Bucky'd retrieved his pole from the clamps that held it against the big tent pole and was standing at the far end of the wire. Below them the huge tent was all shadows, but the net was there, and all Bucky had to say was "red". Steve didn't think he would. They'd talked about this fantasy, fucking in the big top where anyone could walk in. The thrill of doing it in a public place was more Bucky's thing than Steve's, but tonight was for Bucky.

Steve stripped his jeans off and moved to stand at his end of the wire and Bucky balanced the pole, which glowed faintly – Stark had decided on luminous paint as well as glitter – and stepped onto the wire. He kept his eyes on Steve and there was a faint smile on his face. He was half-hard and Steve's cock stirred in response, watching Bucky move gracefully through his routine, never faltering.

He stepped into Steve's arms, the pole trapped between them as Steve kissed the hell out of him.

Bucky pulled away, "Let me stow it," he murmured, and went to clamp the pole vertically to the tent pole on this side, before turning back, a broad smile on his face. He spread his hands. "Did I pass the test, coach?"

"Sure did," Steve said, grinning just as wide. "So now you get your reward. You're still slicked up from before we went to sleep, right?" Bucky nodded, eyebrows raised.

Steve leaned back against the tent pole and reached out, pushing on Bucky's shoulder. "Down. Get me ready."

Bucky went down in one fluid move, leaning in to nuzzle Steve's cock which was rapidly hardening. "Suck me," Steve said, his voice hoarse. Not that Bucky needed to be told, but Steve knew he liked hearing it. Sure enough, a shudder ran through Bucky and he swallowed Steve down, bringing his hands up to curl around Steve's thighs. "Ah, jeez, that's good, you're so _good_ , Buck," Steve gasped, trying not to thrust too hard into Bucky's hot, tight throat.

It was almost too much pretty soon, and he pushed Bucky carefully off his cock. Bucky was gone, straining against his grip, seeking Steve's cock again, his mouth open, eyes shut. "No, Buck, or I'm gonna come, and I wanna be in you." Another shudder, and Steve fought for control.

He helped Bucky stand, propped him up against the tent pole still looking dazed, then reached up and freed another trapeze swing, one of the big hoops they used for acrobatics. It hung near the edge of the platform, a slip-knotted safety line stopping it from swinging free.

"C'mere." Steve sat back in the swing and beckoned to Bucky. "Ride me."

Bucky didn't need telling twice, climbing into Steve's lap and hooking his legs over the hoop and around Steve's ass. He reached up and grasped the top of the hoop with his right arm and lowered himself down, both of them gasping as he lined Steve's cock up and sank down on it.

"Hold on tight," Steve whispered, and tugged the knot of the safety line free, sending them sailing out over the dimly lit abyss like a pendulum. Bucky made a choked noise and moved on him, holding on to the hoop above with both hands as he fucked himself on Steve's cock.

Steve hung on as well, thrusting up as best he could without falling off his perch entirely. It was safe enough, he had a good grip on the hoop as well, and Bucky's knees were over it, locking them together tightly. The wild swing of the hoop settled into a smaller ellipse, and Steve kicked with his legs, building momentum as they swung to and fro through the darkened big top, the hoop's movement adding to their own thrusts until Steve cried out, pleasure arcing between them like a live wire.

"C'mon, Buck, _now_ ," Steve gasped, and Bucky groaned and jerked, clinging to him, kissing him desperately. 

They drifted for a while, twined together, just holding on, then Bucky chuckled into his neck. "You never figured out how to get us down, did you?"

"Well," Steve said, "my fantasies got kind of hung up on the sex part of the evening." He peered across at the platform behind Bucky. "Don't think I can get up enough momentum to swing us there, and you're not trained for trapeze work, anyway."

"Not for landings, no," Bucky said. "I got my kink certification though."

"Yeah," Steve said, grinning. "I'll be sure to print you off a certificate for your trailer."

Bucky snorted. "So what now, Stevie?"

Steve kissed him, just a brief press of lips. "You have to go first, pal. Gonna have to trust me."

"Just... let go?" Bucky looked over his shoulder into the dark depths below.

"Yeah. The net's there, I made sure to check it earlier."

"I take it back," Bucky said wryly. "You _did_ plan this part as well, you bastard."

"You can do it," Steve whispered, and kissed him again, long and lingering. "Trust me."

"I do," Bucky said.

He let go.

~ the end ~


End file.
